


Bad Mother Fucker

by pozorvlak



Category: Pulp Fiction (1994)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:30:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6450052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pozorvlak/pseuds/pozorvlak





	Bad Mother Fucker

“First I’m going to deliver this case to Marsellus, then, basically, I’m just going to walk the Earth.”

“What’cha mean, ‘walk the Earth’?”

“You know, like Caine in _Kung Fu_ : walk from place to place, meet people, get in adventures.”

Like all the best lies, it was almost true. But it didn’t matter if it was true, it only had to be believable. Vincent had to believe he was going, and not ask too many questions about where, or when he’d be back. The miracle from this morning - for that’s what it was, no question, and there were plenty more where that one came from - provided the perfect excuse.

“And how long do you intend to walk the Earth?”

“Until God puts me where he wants me to be.” Or someone else, anyway - his next destination wouldn’t be his own choice, that’s for sure.

“And what if he don't do that?” _Oh, He will…_

“If it takes forever, then I'll walk forever.”

“So you decided to be a bum?”

“I’ll just be Jules, Vincent; no more, no less.” Something like that, anyway.

* * *

The cab dropped him off at the cheap apartment in Inglewood that had been his home for the last year. One more night in this place, maybe two, for plausibility? Nah. The mission was over, he should bug out ASAP. He’d been lucky enough to survive those two idiots in the restaurant, no sense taking any more risks. He took the gun out of the waistband of his borrowed shorts, put it down, then removed the small metal canister from where it had been taped next to his groin. The canister was lead-lined, they told him - he hoped they hadn’t been lying, he’d seen how the thing inside it glowed. He also hoped Marsellus Wallace would stay fooled by the fake he’d swapped in, but if he didn’t - well, not his problem, as long as the exfil happened soon enough. He hid the canister under the floorboards, changed into some less ugly-ass clothes, took a small electronic device out from a hiding place under the bed frame, and walked three blocks to the second-nearest payphone. Then another six blocks until he found one that hadn’t been vandalized.

He inserted the scrambler into the handset’s mouth- and ear-pieces, dialed a long number from memory, and waited as the scrambler’s hiss resolved itself into a low, throbbing hum. Then finally there was a click, and then silence. He spoke into the mouthpiece:

“This is Fury, requesting immediate extraction. The Stone is secure. Repeat, the Stone is secure.”


End file.
